Tea with Juan Quezada: An Afternoon at Rancho Barro Blanco

It's spring, and the Palanganas River flows leisurely and low. Juan Quezada, at the wheel of his pickup, shepherds a group of American women up the rocky riverbank toward his ranch house overlooking Mata Ortiz. One of the women, a Romance language teacher named Kay, sits next to Juan. She's carrying on a lively conversation with him in Spanish. Cathleen rides next to Kay, easily joining in the discussion. Like Kay, Cathleen is fluent in Spanish, in her case from years of work in agribusiness. The rest of us—Nora, Patricia, Remedios, and myself—are far less proficient in Juan's native language. We're relegated to the truck bed. From that hot, dusty vantage point we enjoy a majestic panorama that stretches from El Indio Peak down to Mata Ortiz and west to the Sierra Madre range that marks the boundary between the Mexican states of Chihuahua and Sonora.

Through the gritty windshield, Kay and Cathleen take in the view of Rancho Barro Blanco, Juan's White Clay Ranch. "No," Juan tells them, "I didn't first find white clay here on the ranch. The name 'Barro Blanco' is to honor the pottery." After all, it is his pottery that affords Juan this second home a mere ten minutes from his house in Mata Ortiz. Rancho Barro Blanco is populated, we see, with a wild variety of exotic cattle, goats, sheep, and fowl, including a teeming flock of chickens and their hatchling pollitos. The barnyard is immaculate and the outbuildings well kept. "Those fences are coyote-proof," Juan says, gesturing to the metal netting that safeguards the fowl. "I lost a baby ostrich, and then another, to the coyotes. So I put up this special fencing to protect all the rest."

A congenial javelina trots over to greet us as Juan brings the pickup to a stop and swings his cowboy-booted feet out of the cab. Although well into his sixties, Juan strides to the back of the truck with the clip and grace of a young man, and helps us over the tailgate. He tentatively begins a conversation, but quickly loses patience with our broken Spanish and joins up with Cathleen and Kay, who understand him. We nonfluent four busy ourselves handing out sweaty cans of cold soda and tea from the ice chest we've brought along. Juan eagerly accepts a cold drink and, keeping up the spirited conversation with Kay and Cathleen, ushers us into the living room of his modest ranch house. We're appreciative that international fame has left Juan's Spartan sensibilities intact. His home furnishings are tasteful but spare: a subdued tile floor, a pine table, and a few simple leather chairs. The well-made wooden front door stands open. Out of propriety? To let in more light? Who can say? But the midday breeze that drifts across the threshold is delicious, dry and cool.

Strangely, not a single pot or art memento graces the austere room. At his house in town, Juan's living room is filled with pots, awards, and photographs highlighting his career. Among the displays back at that house, a signed photograph of Laura Bush hangs near Juan's certificate naming him the recipient of Mexico's prestigious Arts and Science Award. But here at Barro Blanco, the look is pure, unadorned rancho.

Kay translates as Juan explains that in the nineteenth century, the grassland in this high desert sustained herds of healthy cattle. "But now," he says, "the llano has been overgrazed for decades, so ranching here is even tougher than it was in the old days, and not as lucrative." From his chair at the head of the table, Juan goes on to give us an impassioned lecture on local economics. Kay and Cathleen struggle to translate for the others at Juan's rapid-fire pace. "Por necesidad," Juan says. "Out of necessity, many of the potters here began to work with clay to provide for their families. One potter teaches another and another. It's a small village. We all know each other and help out...